Black Cat, White Cat
by helga3
Summary: The infamous Queen Berúthiel ponders life in Gondor and her equally infamous cats as she awaits her doom.


**Disclaimer: **'Tis the world of the great Professor Tolkien that I am playing with.

**A/N:** This could have gone into the Lord of The Rings-section as well as the Silmarillion one, I suppose, but I ended up deciding on putting it here. Also, I have a feeling that the title for this, _Black Cat, White Cat, _is something I've picked up somewhere, but I can't for the life of me remember where.

Concrit very much appreciated.

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**Black Cat, White Cat**

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Queen Berúthiel of Gondor was seated on the bed of her chamber, surrounded by her ten cats; nine black, one white.

To anyone who knew nothing of the queen or the rumours of her that were flying around the realm, it would perhaps have looked like a perfectly normal, everyday scene, just a woman taking a break from her chores to socialise with her pets for a moment. To anyone who were familiar with what was whispered about the queen, however, the moment would most likely not have seemed as harmless.

Had you also known what was presently being planned in the king's household, it would have seemed even less so.

The queen was wearing a black travelling-cloak over a black silver-rimmed dress. She was carrying a sword at her side.

Not that she was planning to use it.

Berúthiel, though aware that this would be her last day in her home, did not know exactly what was going to happen to her. She had no idea where she would be when the sun went down in the west that evening. On a horse, on her way out of the country, she supposed. But she could not be completely sure. Perhaps she would be dead.

It was her cats that had informed her that the king had finally had enough. His displeasure with his wife and her games had finally become strong enough for him to take action, the queen was to be got rid of. Besides, the murmurs of the people had finally grown loud enough for him to take notice and listen as well.

Not that Berúthiel was altogether too surprised at hearing this. She had, after all, been very aware that she had been playing with fire for a long time now. Knowledge never came cheap, but the kind of knowledge she had gathered; secrets, all the things that people most wished to keep hidden, were far more costly than any other kind.

But knowledge was power, and she wanted that power for herself.

Her cats had not been able to find out exactly what the king had planned for her. This time the doors to his secret councils and chambers had been to firmly shut, locked doors and guards had greeted them so that not even they had been able to find a way in.

So all that was left for Berúthiel now was to wait. To wait, to wonder, and to say her farewells. Had it not been for the farewells, she could have gone to meet her husband, she mused. She could have been rid of the constant wondering and at the same time she would have robbed him of the satisfaction of thinking anything he could do would be unexpected or come as a surprise to her, the idea that there could be any secrets kept from her.

But she had to say goodbye.

There was not one single person in the realm of Gondor that she would have wished to say anything to on this last day as queen. Then again, there was also not one person in the land who would have wanted a last word from the strange and frightening queen.

Her cats were a different matter entirely, though.

After all, they had been her only real companions in a land she despised and which despised her in return. They had been loyal to her, never betraying her despite the not always completely fair treatment she had given them. They had become hated by the people, just as hated as she was, only for her sake.

It was the only thing she regretted.

But at the same time she knew they could very well have avoided that fate had they wanted to. They were cats, after all, and no matter how much Berúthiel had wanted to believe it was her power, her will alone, that had made them do her bidding, she knew it was not so. Cats were fiercely independent creatures that could not be ruled, something she admired greatly, and could relate to as well. No cat would ever be a slave to anyone if he did not chose to be one himself.

Berúthiel wondered what would happen to her cats after this day, when she would be gone. Bringing them with her when she went – assuming she was allowed to leave, of course – would not only bring her pleasure, but would also be of use to her, a privilege the king would not wish for her to have. But leaving them behind in Osgiliath would only serve as a reminder of her, keep her shadow alive and the memory of her close to the hearts of the people.

No one would dare touch them, though, and much less kill them, the people were much to frightened of them for that.

She hoped.

But nothing was certain at the moment, and that was why Queen Berúthiel was in her chamber bidding her cats farewell.

She had never named them.

Her only companions, she had still never presumed to name them. To her, they had been known only as Black and White. It was not like she would have needed names to tell the black ones apart, anyway.

Besides, she was certain they did have names, their own true names hidden somewhere deep in their feline hearts. For all her prodding their minds and searching their memories, she still had not asked about that, never tried to find out.

That would have been going too far. In fact, she even marvelled at the treatment they actually had accepted from her. The thought of someone reading her mind was disgusting to her. Though she had had little else to hold on to in her life in Osgiliath, her pride was one of them, and would someone have tried to violate her in the way she had them, she would have fought back with both hands and teeth, and anything else she could possibly have used as a weapon.

Though she probably would not have succeeded even nearly as well as her cats would have had they ever decided to rebel.

The first times the cats had let her borrow their eyes, she had been greatly amused by what she had learned. The whispers they brought back to her; the pettiness, the jealousy, all the deepest secrets and fears and cowardly deeds of the people who considered themselves so above the rest of the men of Middle-earth only confirmed what Berúthiel already believed. She was, in fact, the one who was above them.

And she loved the power that gave her. She knew. And the people knew that she knew, and they feared her knowledge.

So with time, more and more of the whispers came to concern her. Berúthiel had listened to the people's tales of her. Some of them had been true, others had been half-truths. Some had been so outrageously preposterous that she wondered where people came up with such ridiculous ideas.

One day, the queen had almost absentmindedly set White to keep track of what his nine companions were doing, not really knowing why herself. He had silently done her bidding, and the others had known all along, of course, and never protested in any way.

In hindsight, it had probably been more about seeing to it that White would not be treated any differently by the other cats as keeping them from betraying her. A ridiculous notion, she realised now. Cats would not treat anyone differently because you could see he was different. They were not humans. But he had become so much of an avatar of herself and her position as queen in a strange country that her thoughts on the matter had perhaps not always been completely clear.

The cats had all known this, of course. That was another thing she was realising now. That was why they had let her act as she had and remained loyal to her, they had seen and understood a lot more than she or even her people could have dreamed of.

Berúthiel rose from her bed, White in her arms, and walked to the window. There was a strong north wind blowing, but sun was shining from a clear blue sky. She could see Anduin glittering in the sunlight, reminding her of the accursed sea she so hated.

_Perhaps they will drown me._

The thought was brief, panicked. Actually, she very much doubted that the men of Gondor would do something like that to a woman, even if she was the hated queen and of as much evil as she reputedly was. They would consider themselves above such barbaric procedures.

She hoped.

The fear and hate she felt for the sea was humiliating, the one thing that had been able to rob her of her pride. And soon pride would be all she would have left.

She felt White tensing in her arms, suddenly, and all the black cats turned towards the door to her chamber. Berúthiel listened as the footsteps drew closer and closer.

She was ready to meet her doom. She would not be bringing anything with her as she went except the clothes she was wearing and the sword, if she would not be allowed to keep her cats. Berúthiel had never cared much for material possessions anyway, always having preferred the kind of wealth and power that came with the possession of words and knowledge instead.

She turned towards the door as it opened, and drew herself up to proudly meet the eyes of her husband, who was entering with ten guards behind him.

_So many, just for me._

The cats hissed, their tails thick, but went silent as she quietly urged them to remain calm.

"So, King Tarannon Falastur, this is goodbye then?" Berúthiel made her voice haughty, lacing the words and the name of her husband especially with all the contempt she felt for both him and his people and country.

He looked at her, eyes unreadable, but a smirk slowly spreading across his face. "So it is. Your ship is ready, only waiting for you."

_Ship?_ Berúthiel felt her heart sink, the mere thought of the sea filling her with a feeling of nausea. He had found a way to rob her of her pride, after all. But she kept her eyes steadily on his, not letting her thoughts show.

"I am ready."


End file.
